Meant to Bea

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She didn't cry. She couldn't. She couldn't mourn for a life she never knew. She couldn't mourn for a soul she never met. She couldn't mourn for a body she never held.

Bianca told herself everyday since the physician walked into Race's bedchamber to break the news of her miscarriage to her, that she couldn't cry. What would be the point of tears anyway? What changes would her tears make? What comfort would it bring? It was nothing. It was nothing but mere discomfort for six weeks. It was nothing but the mere troubling of her stomach, and an inability to eat.

After the physician left, she insisted on returning to her bedchamber. Besides, she had only gone in to Race's bedchamber to be physical with him. She had gone in to give in to her lust. To ease her anger. To ease her loneliness.

She returned to her bedchamber and didn't see Race again... Until three days later. She was munching on a scone —her appetite completely gone, even if her morning sicknesses had ended with the loss of the baby— when the door was pushed open without a knock, and he appeared.

She sat still on the sofa, her hand holding on to the scone, as her eyes remained fixed on him. He stood there, clinging to the doorknob.

“Did you know? ” He finally asked, breaking the wall of silence in the room. “Did you know you were pregnant when you came up to my bedchamber that evening?”

Silence.

She couldn't speak. For the life of her, she couldn't do anything but sit there while he stood by the door with his eyes beholding her with so much accusations in them.

He blamed her. He didn't say those exact words, but his eyes told her that he blamed her for the death of their baby.

When she didn't respond for several seconds, she thought he would rip the knob out of the door. A muscle worked in his jaw, and two deep lines pulled on the edges of his brows.

But that was all. He didn't yell. He didn't rip the knob out. He didn't voice his feelings. All he did was turn around and walk away.

After Race's visit, Bianca began to blame herself as well; she knew. She knew she was pregnant, she felt the pains she knew threatened the life of her baby, she knew she shouldn't have sat still so often, neglecting to get in some exercise. She should have told Race about it. She shouldn't have gone into his bedchamber that evening.

She sat blaming herself for several days, and finding even more reasons to do so.

Rising to her tired feet, Bianca made her way to the window one sunny afternoon and pushed the curtains aside; she might have decided to stay isolated, but she could use a little sunshine in her life.

When she turned from the window, the soft knock on the door alerted her to the presence of a maid. Rather than stand afar off and give the command to enter, she walked to the door and pulled it open.

“My lady.” The maid curtsied.

“What is it? ” She asked, impatient.

“Visitor, my lady." She handed the card to Bianca.

Frowning, she glanced down at it; Lady Atkins.

Her frown deepened. What did Lady Atkins want with her? She had never encountered Lady Atkins in the past, not even once. She had however heard many things about the woman from Carla, all of which were unpleasant.

Curious, Bianca nodded. “I shall see her.”

She let the maid into her room to help her change out of her night dress, and into a more appropriate day dress. Her brown hair was made into a French braid.